XD:317 (Fourth Fleet Irregulars)

by S J MacDonald

  It was apparent to Alex that the president and Davie had never met before. They were introduced, indeed, by Ambassador Gerard, with compliments about the invaluable role that Mr North played as a goodwill ambassador.

  Davie and Marc Tyborne eyed one another appraisingly. Davie was, rather to Alex’s surprise, superbly dressed in a pale grey silk suit. He still looked absurdly young, more like a very expensively dressed pageboy at a wedding than a businessman, but at least he wasn’t wearing anything outlandish. He’d even put on shoes in honour of the occasion. His manners couldn’t be faulted, either, as he shook Marc Tyborne’s hand deferentially and addressed him as ‘Mr President.’

  President Tyborne did not appear to be quite sure for a moment whether Davie was sincere in this, but made a visible effort to be genial in return.

  ‘Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr North,’ he said. He glanced, then, at the twenty three people who’d followed Davie even into the presidential guest-suite, but made no comment. He had an even larger retinue of his own, after all.

  Shion, at any rate, was pleased to see Davie. She gestured for him to come and sit beside her, and was quite clearly relieved to have Alex on one side of her and Davie on the other; bulwarks against all these important strangers. Seeing this, but misunderstanding it, Ambassador Gerard suggested that they were tiring her.

  ‘Perhaps we might show you to the exosuite, here,’ he suggested, ‘so that you can rest for a while.’

  Seeing the hopeful look on the president’s face, it was apparent to Shion that some preparations had been made with which they were hoping to please her. So she agreed, of course, not wanting to disappoint them, and was duly escorted by the president with the entire party following.

  It was at this point that things went really wrong.

  The exosuite they showed Shion into had very obviously been furnished at great expense, and huge effort, too, to create a space where Shion would feel at home. It was, as even Alex recognised immediately, a Hall of Veils. A double deck space had been created here to allow sufficient height for the gorgeous gossamer drapes that swathed across the gym-sized room. They were pale yellows, creams and pastel blues, fabrics so fine that each by itself was virtually transparent, but so layered that they created a misty, gently shifting barrier between the entrance and the central space. In that central space was a pool, some ten metres long by three wide. It was a shallow pool, surrounded by pearly marble on which stood a few statues of elongated, serene figures holding flowers, fruit and something that might have been musical instruments. At the far end of the pool was a dais on which a broad marble seat, wide enough to recline upon, had been placed. The hall was so heavily insulated that not even engine noise penetrated the velvet silence.

  Shion stood staring at it for several seconds, eyes growing rounder as she took in every detail. Her face was acquiring a roseate colour, hard to detect against the rich blue-black of her skin, but apparent to a keen observer. She was, Alex could see, blushing. The president, and everyone else there, was looking at her with the kind of expectation grown-ups have when showing a child into the room where they’ve laid out everything ready for her birthday party.

  Shion made a small stifled noise and clapped both hands over her mouth. The look she gave Alex was one of desperate appeal.

  He didn’t understand. Not, at least, till he heard the child-like burst of giggles from behind her and realised that Davie North had cracked up laughing, too. Then he looked at Shion, and realised that the choking noise she’d made had been a crow of helpless mirth, and that she was holding back a most unmannerly howl of laughter, too, only by the most extreme effort.

  ‘You just had to go there,’ Davie observed, still laughing, but shaking his head in reproach at the startled president. ‘Seriously?’ he lamented.

  Shion made another little whimpering noise. Her shoulders, Alex saw, were shaking, and she was moments away from one of those bursts of laughter they’d become familiar with on the Heron. When something really struck her as hilarious she could laugh so much she just couldn’t stop herself. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d needed to provide a glass of water and tissues for her to wipe her eyes, as she would laugh so much she cried, too.

  That would not, Alex felt, do anything to improve the already uneasy diplomatic situation, here. And she was looking at him, too, with eyes that begged him to come to the rescue. So he did.

  ‘I think perhaps Shionolethe would prefer to rest aboard the Heron, sir,’ he said. The president could see the heightened colour in Shion’s face and the over-brightness of her eyes, but was confused into thinking this was a very different kind of emotion at finding herself in a place so much like her home.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he agreed, obviously disappointed that the Hall of Veils hadn’t made her happy, but anxious to soothe any upset.

  To her credit, Shion managed to keep it together until they were back on a shuttle heading for the frigate. As soon as the hatch was closed, though, she just fell apart, howling.

  Alex grinned tolerantly and just let her get on with it. Whatever it was that she’d found so hilarious about the Hall of Veils, clearly, she was in no condition right now even to attempt to explain it.

  It was, indeed, a good quarter of an hour later before she was in any fit state to tell Alex what the problem was, and even then, it took some time.

  ‘A Hall of Veils is...’ she gestured helplessly, attempting to indicate that there were just no words adequate in League Standard to express these concepts, ‘sacred. They are the most important places on our world, ancient and beautiful, the sacred essence of who we are as a people, halls that have been in use as places of congrave for millions, millions of years. The idea that you could create a tiny little replica of one aboard a starship is just...’

  She got the giggles again at this point, but managed to compose herself.

  ‘I can’t believe they were serious,’ she admitted. ‘I thought for a moment that they were doing it to be insulting, but then I realised that of course they weren’t, they were trying to be nice. I’m sorry I laughed – was that rude? I just couldn’t help it, though.’

  Alex had to grin, too, assuring her that he was sure that nobody had taken offence.

  ‘Drink your tea,’ he suggested. Rangi, seeing the state of hysterical laughter Shion had been in when she’d come back aboard, had provided a suitably calming herbal brew.

  Shion obeyed, and relaxed a little.

  ‘Thanks, skipper,’ she looked around the command deck, where they were sitting, and gave a little sigh. It was apparent to Alex that she was wishing that people would just leave her alone, accepting that this was where she wanted to be, and that they’d stop treating her like alien royalty, too, just accepting her for who she really was.

  Alex did his best to convey that, too, when Dix Harangay called him a few minutes later. The call-code specified privacy required, so Alex excused himself and went to his daycabin to take it.

  ‘Sir,’ his manner was composed but held a hint of a smile - he and Dix Harangay had known one another a long time, after all.

  ‘Alex,’ Dix was clearly in a private office his end, too, and with the call encrypted, they could speak freely. ‘Is Shionolethe all right?’ he asked. ‘Not distressed?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Alex said, and explained, apologetically, ‘she, er, had a fit of the giggles.’

  That was evidently not news to Dix, as he gave a philosophical shrug.

  ‘So Mr North informed us,’ he said, drily, with an undertone that made it apparent that Davie North had been extremely forthright with that explanation. ‘But – no offence caused?’

  ‘No sir, not in the least,’ Alex assured him. ‘Shion is just a little concerned, herself, that she might have caused some offence with her reaction to what she does understand was an effort to please her, but I’ve told her not to worry about it.’

  ‘Good,’ Dix looked relieved, at that. He was a tall, thin man with a domed head and an air
of being so at home in uniform that it was impossible to imagine him wearing anything else. He was always calm, even in the most frenetic of circumstances, and with a habit of wryly humorous understatement that Alex had come to appreciate over the years. ‘These things happen in exodiplomacy,’ he observed, with a little criss-cross gesture. ‘Total failure in communication. Or near-total.’ He gave the frigate skipper a searching look. ‘You seem to understand, at least. You and Mr North.’

  That was a question, as Alex understood.

  ‘It’s just having got to know her, sir,’ he told him, recognising that a concern had been raised somewhere that Alex knew more about Shion than he’d shared with the Diplomatic Corps. ‘I have been passing it all along in my reports.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Dix said. ‘Unfortunately, however, those reports have been interpreted as you failing to treat Ambassador Shionolethe with the deference that is her due.’ A smile flicked across his face. ‘Treating her as a cadet, and so forth. Though that view is now changing, largely thanks to Attaché Djembo confirming that Shionolethe does, indeed, prefer informality. So I’ve been told,’ another flick of humour, ‘to find out what is going on, and if it is true that she was laughing, what is so funny about the Hall of Veils.’

  Alex did his best to explain, not just about that but about Shion’s earnest desire to just be treated as an ordinary person.

  ‘I think she’s finding it just a little overwhelming that the president and so many important people have come here to meet her,’ he confided. ‘The impression I have – and it is just my impression, sir – is that she retreated into formality because that seemed to be what was being expected of her, but I don’t feel that she was at all comfortable with that.’

  ‘So Mr North said,’ Dix confirmed. ‘He had some rather frank things to say about trashing the relationship by trying to force her into a role she doesn’t want. He also passed highly critical comment on the colour scheme in the presidential reception room. Apparently the carpet is the wrong colour for classic Devenish design. Strange lad, isn’t he?’

  Alex had barely noticed the decor in the reception room, himself, beyond a vague impression of it as being rather grand and expensive. He could readily imagine Davie, however, telling the president what he thought of it.

  ‘Definitely one of a kind,’ he agreed, but with an amusement the First Lord noticed, too.

  ‘Well, you obviously get along well with him,’ he commented.

  ‘Fairly well I think, yes, sir.’ Alex agreed. ‘I don’t pretend to understand him to any great depth, and he certainly doesn’t confide in me, but I believe we have a friendly working relationship.’ He gave the First Lord a cautious look. ‘Was there, er, a breakdown in the relationship between him and the Diplomatic Corps, sir?’

  ‘No, no – everyone took it in good part,’ Dix said. ‘The president appeared to be quite pleased about the carpet thing, in fact – apparently he’s been saying the same thing for years. Anyway, they all recognise his expertise in working with other species, and the invaluable role he’s played in caring for Shionolethe, too. I believe it’s fair to say, now, that it’s understood why he recommended you and the Heron to Shionolethe. Clearly what she wants and values most highly is to be accepted and treated as if she’s human. Attaché Djembo says that all of you there treat her as if she’s just another member of the crew. Just astonishingly open and welcoming, he says.’

  ‘That’s mostly down to Shion herself, sir,’ Alex told him. ‘Just being so friendly and down to earth.’

  Dix looked thoughtfully at him for a moment. It had occurred to him that one of the reasons Shionolethe had found such a warm welcome on the Heron was the culture of open-minded inclusion that Alex himself fostered there. No distinctions were made in the Fourth between high flyers there to benefit from training, bullocks on their last chance to make good or even parolees from prison. Whoever you were, whatever your past, when you joined the Fourth you just became one of them, a shipmate, no questions asked. The immense pressure on them from the media and activist groups strengthened that sense of unity, too. So, for that matter, did the type of operations they were sent on – often, the other members of the Fourth were the only people they could really talk to frankly about what they got up to. There were all kinds of dangers inherent in that, many ways that isolation could turn inwards and become unhealthy. But Alex seemed to have that well in hand, and Dix felt sure that that warm, inclusive, open-minded culture was a big factor in Shionolethe’s being so comfortable with them, too. He didn’t say so, though, just gave a slight nod.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ he said, ‘I’ve been asked to find out what we can do about dinner. We have this whole banquet thing planned, you see. The Solarans have brought food from Pirrell, specially. There’s a Pirrellothian dining room, too, though given the reaction to the Hall of Veils there’s obviously a big rethink going on over that. So I need you to find out, one,’ he ticked off on his fingers, a habit of his, ‘whether Shionolethe is willing to come to dinner, two, whether she would like food from Pirrell or Chartseyan cuisine, and three, whether she’d prefer the Pirrellothian dining room or the ordinary dining suite. Find out and call me back asap, will you?’

  ‘Sir,’ Alex agreed, and went back to talk to Shion. She did hoot a bit when told they’d made a Pirrellothian dining room aboard the presidential transport, but said at once that of course she wouldn’t insult them by refusing to use it.

  ‘And now I’m prepared, I won’t laugh,’ she promised, though with a grin even as she said it. ‘And how lovely that they’ve brought food for me from Pirrell – I won’t laugh at that either, if they’ve done peculiar things to it. I will,’ she put her hand where her heart would have been if she was human, indicating that she’d learned that gesture since coming to their space, ‘be on my best behaviour, skipper. Do you think it would please them if I wore formal dress?’

  Alex was sure it would, and said so.

  ‘Only if you feel comfortable about that, though,’ he added, which made her hoot again.

  ‘There is nothing comfortable about wearing dahali,’ she told him. ‘They are intended for grace, and dignity, and symbolism. Comfort does not enter the equation. But it would be appropriate for a formal dinner at this level, and I really don’t mind if you think it would please them. I will need help, though – I’ll need Martine and Hali to help me dress and to attend me throughout the evening.’

  Alex knew that she had become particularly good friends with the second lieutenant and with Hali Burdon, the ship’s senior chief petty officer and master at arms. He knew, too, that Shion and Hali had dressed Martine in ceremonial robes one evening, just for fun. Martine had refused to be seen in them because, as she’d said, one false move and the garments slid right off you. The dahali consisted of seventeen separate pieces of fabric, draped in very particular ways, with no fastenings of any kind allowed. The only way to keep them on was to move with perfect grace and balance.

  ‘No problem,’ Alex said at once. Having the alien aristocrat attended by a lieutenant and a chief petty officer might raise eyebrows in the Diplomatic Corps, but it was what Shion wanted so that was how it would be.

  Martine and Hali certainly didn’t have a problem with it. Their only concern was to know exactly what to do and how to behave so as to support Shion in her ceremonial role. They learned quickly, practising as they helped Shion with her hair and makeup, and by the time they emerged with her, ready to depart, they were as composed as if they’d been attending her for years.

  Alex gazed at them as they came through the command deck. Shion looked amazing. She looked suddenly much taller and even more slender, swathed in delicate fabrics. Her hair had been curled and glossed, framing her face in a dark cloud. Whatever makeup had been used had given her skin a polished look, too, so that in repose she looked like an ebony statue. Her eyes had been subtly emphasised and now looked larger. Gorgeous rings adorned her fingers and her ears, with rubies carved into the likeness of flowers. Lookin
g at her as she glided across the command deck, Alex could see for the first time how alien she really was. She looked like one of those elongated statues beside the Hall of Veils, hardly like a living person at all. Even her eyes were remote, as if she were on some plane of consciousness far above the mundane.

  Martine and Hali, following, did not look out of place. Alex had given permission for them to wear a Pirrellothian sash with their dress uniform, marking out their special role in attending Shion this evening. He hadn’t expected the result to be so startling. Both Martine and Hali wore a long, exquisitely embroidered sash on one shoulder, draped to fall straight. Martine was carrying a folded gauzy cloth in both hands, while Hali carried a single rose floating in a glass bowl. Both women had dressed their hair in curls and had a similar burnished look to their skin and dark outlines to their eyes. Both also wore one jewelled ring of the same kind Shion was wearing. They couldn’t even begin to emulate her gliding walk, but were following her in step, as tall and graceful as they could manage.

  The effect was breathtaking. Nobody laughed, even at seeing their second officer and master at arms playing ladies in waiting like that. Shion’s presence was just so imposing, indeed, that everyone went quiet and sat up just a bit straighter, gazing at her with wondering expressions.

  Alex, having taken this in, stopped arguing with Buzz and just accepted the ring that the exec had been trying to get him to wear. This was a very old joke between them. It dated back to Alex’s first assignment as a young Sub under Buzz’s mentoring. Finding that Alex had ‘lost’ his Top Cadet ring, Buzz had provided him with a replacement, pointing out that it was an honour and so expected to be worn with dress uniform. Alex had ‘lost’ any number of them since but Buzz seemed to have an inexhaustible supply. He had, typically, produced one then, telling Alex that since Shion was going to all the trouble of dressing up, the least he could do would be to wear full honours too. And Alex, looking at Shion, found he had no argument against that, so just took the Academy ring and put it on his finger. Buzz smiled, but his own attention was on Shion and her attendants, too.